Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Silk Scarves and Enchanted Handcuffs	By : Tommy-Lane Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13124 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any charactors from the books and I am not making any money off of this.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Title: Silk Scarves and Enchanted Handcuffs

Summary: It was only supposed to be for seven minutes and then the blindfold would come off and he'd be free from the dark cupboard and his mystery partner - only Harry was no longer sure he wanted it to end. Sexual Content,

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Warnings: Lots of drinking, Language, M/M, and Sexual Content of the pretty explicit sort :)

Authors Note: This little story will be six chapters in total and 90% of it takes place in one 24 hour period. It is set in Seventh Year and completely disregards HBP and DH – everything from 5^th year on is different – let’s just pretend that Voldy was kind and gave Harry a bit of a break okay? This is a very light hearted piece and was very fun to write, I hope you all enjoy it!
Chapter 1
Seven Minutes

There was silk over his eyes.

It itched terribly, something Harry was fairly certain silk wasn't supposed to do, not that he had had any prior experience with it before - silk wasn't a part of the Dursley's wardrobe. But still, logically or not, he could feel the fabric rub against his cheeks and forehead and it was awful, not to mention the way it tickled his ears and tugged at his hair where it was tied together at the back of his head.

Maybe it was because he was pretty sure he was sweating. Perhaps the combination of salty liquid and silk produced a kind of reaction that was making his face feel like someone had hit it with an itching hex. And his palms. Merlin why were even his hands sweating? God this was not going to end well.

Just like last time, his brain very unhelpfully supplied for him.

Bugger it.

Why had he even come? Why hadn't he stayed in bed and pretended to be fast asleep when Seamus had thrown his bed curtains back and proclaimed that it was time to go? Why hadn't he more enthusiastically played the sick card instead of half arsing it like he had? Why in the name of all that was good and lovely had he let himself be dragged to yet another inter-house party?

Every damn Friday night.

House unity was overrated, not that he would ever say that out loud, especially in front of Hermione. But seriously, why did everyone need to get along? Any why did everyone think that the way to accomplish this mission was to get everyone drunk on a weekly basis while playing immature, humiliating games that were surely going to scar him just as much as his childhood had.

Harry felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth as the air in the tiny cupboard he had been shoved into a moment ago rose in temperature. He hated cupboards, for very obvious reasons, and maybe if he made his trauma publicly known then his blasted peers would stop finding it so humorous locking him inside one - while blindfolded and under a tricky charm that made speaking anything coherent impossible. Not that he was the only one getting locked in cupboards, he was somewhere around the tenth person that night to have been so - apparently it was some sort of game that was supposed to be wicked fun as Dean had put it the first time Harry had heard the phrase Seven Minutes in Heaven announced as the choice game for the evening.

That fateful night had been a month ago - about the time Harry started hating the parties. Well actually, exactly the same time Harry started hating them, before then he had rather enjoyed them. Enjoyed the fire whiskey and silly games and getting to know people he had never had a chance or reason to before. He enjoyed letting go of his inhibitions and all of the weight on his shoulders and just letting himself be a teenager.

Hannah had produced two colorful silk scarfs that night as she explained the rules and Harry could remember the look on his friends faces as she did so. They looked like drooling trolls, their brains short circuiting at the promise of being locked in a cupboard with some unknown girl with the sole purpose being to snog your hearts out until the door opens and your mystery partner is revealed.

And that's what everyone did.

Neville and Susan. Padma and Colin. Blaise and Luna. Even Pansy and Romilda. And so on and so on. They had all emerged looking rumpled and tousled and thoroughly snogged. Every single couple who was shoved into the cupboard came out just a touch more debauched...everyone except Harry.

Merlin that had to have been the most embarrassing night of his life. He remembered feeling slightly excited as the lights dimmed and everyone waited and then the silk touched his face. He remembered feeling it grow with a tangle of nerves as he was pushed through the door and he heard the soft breath of the person next to him. Then he just...fidgeted, shifting awkwardly and clenching his hands for much too long before there was a touch on his shoulder and a sudden pressure on his cheek. It was so very gentle and slightly wet and with an inhale that he hoped would provide him with some sort of resolve he had turned his head and captured the soft lips of the girl that had smelled so much like roses that it had made him slightly sick and noticing how her body had felt too soft as she had shifted to press herself against him.

He remembered how he had squawked and shoved her away.

He remembered the five long agonizing minutes that followed and the fiery look of hatred on Lavender's face when the door opened and their blindfolds removed. He remembered the whispers and laughter that followed.

He had spent many a long nights since then trying to figure out why the hell he couldn't just snog Lavender like every other bloke in his year apparently could when it was their turn. The only reason he kept going back to was that it had just felt...wrong. Which seemed just aggravatingly silly. Why should it matter? He was a seventeen year old boy, shouldn't his raging hormones have kicked in and taken over for him? Why did it matter that she had felt all wrong and smelled all wrong and her hair had been much too long and wavy and not nearly silky enough? Shouldn't lips have been lips? Shouldn't his instinctual side have kicked in?

And he was pretty sure her large breasts shouldn't have been so freaky. And squishy. Then again maybe he was just used to flat chested girls, both Cho and Ginny hadn't had much going on in that department, maybe that was what had thrown him off. The overabundance of breasts.

Hermione said that it probably had something to do with the fact that he had been in a cupboard and something about post-traumatic stress and maybe a dash of lingering anxiety over his impending battle with Voldemort...or something. He couldn't exactly remember the finer points. She had talked for hours. And there had been charts. Color coded and in nice neat columns, every one of his problems clearly labeled and set into the order Hermione deemed most...it didn't matter.

She basically said that he was fucked up but that's alright Harry, we still love you.

He had managed to avoid the parties since then...until tonight. Harry balled his hands into fists at his sides. Seamus had adamantly promised that everyone had forgotten Harry's embarrassment (which, of course they hadn't) and that they wouldn't be playing Seven Minutes in Heaven. The Irish boy had very clearly said, "best get over it mate, besides Hufflepuff had picked then and it's Slytherin's turn tonight so you can bet your broom it will be some sneaky drinking game instead," while he threw clothes in Harry's direction before nudging him down the stairs.

He was going to kill Seamus.

Because it hadn't been some sneaky drinking game. No, Pansy had conjured her own silk scarfs, grinning evilly as she proclaimed the game, making Harry feel like he was going to drop dead as he caught Lavender's venomous gaze during the never ending announcement of the rules. Merlin you'd think he had held her under the Cruciatus last time instead of just...pushing away from her until his head cracked against the wall.

The sweating had started as the smarmy Slytherin had rambled on and on...though in hindsight he probably should have paid better attention. Merlin what if he was trapped in here for longer than seven minutes? Oh god, this was a disaster and he was fairly certain that he had never been this nervous before - and he had stood toe to toe with Voldemort and gotten tortured. At least he been outside then...

Yup, something was definitely wrong with him, might as well add that tidbit too Hermione's chart as well - it would probably go in the blue column right next to his penchant for following Death Eater son's around...well just one Death Eater's son but apparently that was big enough to warrant its own label and a look from his studious friend as she stuck it in its place.

With a quick glance at the overly large glass bowl housing every single person in attendances name on a scrap of a paper he had fervently prayed that he wouldn't be selected (then again his name did seem to like jumping out of bowls and cups when he didn't want them too) and tried his hardest to blend into the crowd, his heart stopping in his chest along with his breath every time the lights dimmed, both refusing to start up again until the lights flickered back to life and he was still safely surrounded by his group of friends.

He sipped his whiskey as boys and girls, girls and boy, girls and girls, and even once a boy and boy, all from varying houses emerged and the process began all over again - mentally yelling at himself to calm down and to just enjoy the night. Enjoy the music and the laughter and the fact that Ron had finally asked Hermione out and now they were off in their own cupboard somewhere. Enjoy the few looks that weren't pure amusement at his expense but of actual interest. Enjoy the fact that he was starting to feel slightly relaxed and that Seamus was arguing was Zabini about something he honestly couldn't follow as Draco Malfoy lounged next to him - cradling his glass in his pale hands and flicking his cool gray eyes over to Harry like he didn't know what was going on either but found it amusing none the less.

He didn't know why those gray irises made him feel like smiling or how he had even ended up so close to the Slytherin in the first place. Probably Seamus's fault again. But regardless of how, there he was, standing awkwardly while acutely aware of every fidget of his limbs and twitch of his head - finding himself counting the space between the times he let himself look down at Malfoy. He settled around ever twenty seconds, unsure if that was too much but unable to help himself anyway.

He just looked so...well he didn't know but something about it kept catching his eye, something that was starting to take Harry by surprise more and more. Ever since the git's father had been thrown into Azkaban Malfoy had been more subdued, quieter, but not in a brooding I'm going to stick a knife if your back kind of way like Harry had originally suspected. No, he somehow seemed...lighter, softer, the hard lines of his face easing up like a physical weight had been lifted off them. The sneer was still there but it was muted, the smirk tamed just an inch to make it sort of...charming? Then there was the clothes. No one wore robes to the parties and Malfoy...well it really wasn't a surprise that the boy knew how to dress. Like tonight, he was wearing a pair of sleek gray trousers and a black jumper that probably cost as much as Harry's entire wardrobe and school supplies combined that buttoned up to his throat - pressed gray cuffs peeking out at his wrists. He made Harry look like he had just rolled out of a rubbish bin in comparison and he found himself tugging at his mangled curls as he eyed Malfoy's flawless locks that he had thankfully stopped slicking back.

If possible his hair looked even brighter with the lack of gel. Like a damn dark angel...

Then it happened.

The silk slipped over his eyes, tightening a bit too much around his scalp before he was marched forward with his feet tripping all the way and tossed through the door. And all he could think was no, no, no, no! Which he was pretty sure was not what a normal boy would be thinking at such a time but that did nothing to dispel the nerves that were threatening to choke him until he literally passed out right there on the dark floor.

The lights were probably just flicking back on and everyone would just be piecing together that he was one of the people missing and then the laughter would start again...

He wondered if Malfoy would laugh with them or if he would just smirk in his quiet way and drink from his glass like he had been the entire night.

The air shifted and Harry sucked in a breath, holding it in his chest as he felt fingers that were cool to the touch brush across his cheek, curling around his jaw with a flat pad of a thumb pressing under his chin and forcing his head up. They were such a sharp contrast to his own heated flesh that he couldn't help but shiver, the quake starting between his shoulder blades and running all the way to the base of his spine.

He heard the other occupant of the tiny cupboard breathe out through their nose and then there was a hand in his hair, carding through his curls as if they were trying to figure him out just by the feel of his disastrous locks. Whoever it was apparently had no intention of letting Harry take the first step, nor of letting him even get his footing, everything about the touches instant and...definitely not Lavender, thank Merlin.

His eyes that were straining against the black of his blindfold sagged closed, his head lolling unconsciously under the steady hand as his mind spun with possibilities. The person smelled like whiskey and citrus, with strong fingers and a sure touch that was somehow gentle and commanding all at once, making him feel like maybe this would be okay. Maybe he'll be able to do it this time, maybe...

There were lips on his. They were warm and wet, and not because either of them was crying (though he should really stop comparing everything to that first disastrous kiss) but because of the briefest flash of tongue that flicked over the crease of his closed mouth. Harry gasped as his knees buckled and his stomach plummeted and god did they know how to use their mouth. Yet it was the gentlest of touches, lips brushing against lips and then with something that sounded like a growl, he was hauled forward and smashed against a solid hard chest.

A breast free chest, nothing but hard, angular lines and jutting hipbones and slight but strong shoulders that bunched with a tight coil of slim muscle as his hands reached up and latched onto them for dear life.

It was a boy. He was kissing another boy.

Harry moaned, his head spinning in a dizzying loop as the idea chased itself around in his mind, a tongue sneaking into his mouth and demanding his attention and reaction, a tongue that tasted so much like the amber liquid he'd been consuming himself and yet...different. It tasted better than he thought anything ever could.

It was like falling into one of his dreams, everything a tad fuzzy around the edges, the blackness and forced silence, the mysterious identity of his partner, the firm mouth that kissed and moved and worked on undoing him as he shook. Except it was real, it was happening, he could hear the other boy breathing, could feel his chest heaving, felt his hand in his hair and on his neck - icy fingers that were starting to rise in temperature along with Harry.

He moved his arms to wrap around the slender neck, his fingers sliding through the silky soft hair at the base as he pressed himself up against the long body before him, his mind snapping completely as the hand on his neck slid down until it was pressed at the small of his back - holding him in place with a firmness that he couldn't help but react to, his heart beating furiously.

The kiss was sucking up eternity in Harry's mind, blotting out everything else, all the things in his life tugging at him, all the things demanded of him. He simply kissed and kissed and kissed, let himself melt forward into the hardness before him where he could feel the boy's heart beating just as quickly as his.

His chest was starting to burn, aching with the want of air but he couldn't seem to stop, couldn't seem to pull himself away, he kissed harder, moved his lips and tongue faster and felt something ignite low in his gut when the boy groaned and tugged on his hair - something that sounded like it desperately wanted to be a coherent curse as his head snapped back and there were fingers on his throat. He didn't know why that felt so good when at the same time it was wholly threatening, a simple snap and twist could drastically change the course of their interaction. But he couldn't find it in himself to care or even be remotely fearful...it was like this person who had no clue who he was wanted any part of him he could get to the fasted and that was...amazing.

Harry wasn't used to being wanted without ulterior motives. He was used to being punished and shoved in corners or hoisted high on what often felt like undue praise before being dropped again as the current of emotions changed...

He felt lightheaded with the knowledge that he was affecting the boy just as much as he himself was affected, that there was a desperation in his movements that Harry felt matched in his own.

The fingers on his throat flexed and the lips were rudely ripped away from his own, a cry of dismay floating in the air before that perfect mouth was pressing between the chilled fingers on his skin, licking his throat with a scorching heat that made the touch that much colder and intense, making everything seem like a stark contrast around him.

The blackness and light exploding behind his eyelids.

The quiet and gasps.

The cold that was the other boy and the pure heat that was Harry.

The difference between last time with Lavender and this time with...he didn't know. But it didn't matter, he could hardly care at the moment. He pushed away the thought of how everyone will react when he emerges with another boy looking disheveled and swollen lipped like he knew he would be. Pushed away the thought of the shock that might come when it's revealed who it is exactly that's making him feel so very alive and turned inside out, making him want to forget all the people on the other side of the door and to just take more and more and more.

Take anything the boy seemed fit to give him.

Yes, his mind screamed, the sound coming out garbled as a hand pressed hard against his back and his hips snapped forward, rubbing against the hard bulge he felt there.

But the boy seemed to understand him anyway because his back was hitting the wall of the cupboard after two swift steps, two hands slipping up under the hem of his shirt, pushing the material up his chest as they moved while the mouth found his once more, muffling his noises to indecent nonsense.

The hands that touched him were long fingered and sharp with perfectly clipped nails but so very soft, like they had never lifted anything coarse in their lifetime or perhaps spent all their time hovering over the steam of a cauldron, smoothing the skin till it felt baby fine. But they were unwavering, confident, melting his insides with every inch upwards, his muscles fluttering under the tips of the fingers, his mouth hanging open as it was devoured with a deliriously delicious constancy despite Harry's quickly deteriorating ability to do anything but gasp and shudder.

A year of dating Ginny and he had never felt like this. Had never let ago until he ceased to think and just feel.

His tee shirt was dragged over his head and tossed somewhere in the dark, his body cold and alone for a split second before he was squished between two hard surfaces again, his hands slipping around to the boy’s front to return the favor, his body suddenly itching with the desire to feel his naked skin. His fingers ran across a long smooth tie and over a line of freakishly tiny buttons.

Bloody hell, he cursed, his hands unsteady as they tried to work the knot free while still returning the kiss with equal fervor. Who the hell wears a button down and tie to a party? Gryffindor’s were all about comfort, sweatshirts and tee-shirts and faded jeans, Hufflepuff’s dressed slightly nicer, the girls in dresses and boys in tidier shirts...had to be a Ravenclaw then.

Or a Slytherin.

His pulse thumped, his fingers slipped, and he gripped the tie with a sudden heat that felt like it was going to melt him into a useless puddle. The hands on his sides tightened, his bottom lip caught between two sets of teeth and sucked into the warm mouth and something inside Harry slid into place - he didn't know how much more time they had but he'd be damned if he was defeated by a blasted wardrobe selection. His hands yanked on the knot, the tie slipped loose and his fingers tore at the tiny buttons, giving up seconds into trying to work them free in the dark. Instead he pulled his hands in opposite directions, grinning against the mouth on his that had stilled as the fabric ripped, a question or maybe a reprimand on the others tongue.

"Mhmmm." Harry moaned as his hands hit cool, smooth skin - skin that was just as silky and flawless as the owner’s hands. Good god it was like he was carved from damn marble, how the hell was that possible? Did the boy do nothing but fly around on a broom all day while wearing thick, thick gloves that protected his hands from any callouses? "Mu-shra" He whimpered, unsure he was trying to say anyway but needing more of the boy beneath his hands.

The boy made a noise that sounded like some sort of feral grunt or maybe it was just him answering in kind because his lips were back on Harry's, his hands running down to grasp his backside, hauling him firmly forward until they were rocking together once more. Which was just insanely amazing, a tingling spreading through his limbs and making something pool in his groin as the friction increased while the air was filled with a steadily rising wave of noise that was thankfully not solely coming from Harry.

His head thunked back as those lips moved back to his neck, sucking under the line of his jaw, Harry's hand running the length of skin before him before settling on the thick leather belt. He ran the tip of his finger over it then grabbed the buckle, wondering somewhere in the back of his head if this was the wisest of decisions before he shoved it away and set himself to working it free. The boy let out a shuddering breath as it slipped from its clasp, what could only be his forehead hitting the wall next to Harry's as he undid the button beneath and dragged the zipper down, the hardness enclosed by the fabric jumping as Harry's knuckles brushed over it.

He let out a string of gibberish then, desperately wishing that he could get the words he actually wanted to say out but quickly deciding that it didn't matter all that much as they boy grasped under his arse and jerked him up - his back sliding against the wall and his legs lifting to wind around the boys hips without a second thought. He felt wild and open and good god who knew that feeling another blokes prick rubbing up and down, up and down against his would be so, so bloody perfect. He grasped at the half exposed back before him, moving his hips, and groaning, thankful when his lips were taken back up and he could drown fully from every single possible angle.

Then there was a slanting of light trying to pry at his eyelids, a rise of noise, and a shuffling of feet. He heard an unfriendly snicker, the boy that was quickly ruining him for anything else letting go of him with one hand, their bodies jerking for a moment as he heard an angry growl that vibrated all the way through him. He was smashed against the wall once more, his mouth plundered for all but a second longer before there was a yelp and the boy was suddenly stumbling back from him.

His feet hit the floor and he groped blindly for balance, blinking quickly behind his blindfold as he tried to regain his muddled senses. But it was all coming together too slowly and he felt cold and hungry for more but there was a hand that most definitely wasn't the boy's around his forearm, hauling him from the cupboard and out into a laughing crowd that was quickly turning quiet.

Fuck.

He felt his cheeks flame as he fidgeted in his blindness, listening to the rumbling whispers that were quickly spreading. He always hated this part. Hated even watching it happen to other people, the awkward moment where the people who went just a little too far were thrust back into the light, and forced to stand before the crowd as their blindfolds were removed.

He remembered it happening quicker than this though. Shouldn't he have already had his vision returned? Shouldn't he be staring at the boy that he was desperate to kiss again already? Shouldn't the tipsy crowd be less...focused on them? Because he was sure it was never this quiet for the other couples. Right? Only a third of the people usually cared to watch this part that so often resembled a slow motion train wreck. Maybe it just felt like everyone was quiet and watching him. Merlin he could only hope.

"Ready boys?" Pansy Parkinson's voice rose above the dim and Harry cringed. He always did despise her.

Blessedly she didn't wait a moment longer though and Harry looked at his feet as the silk was drawn from his eyes. He blinked in the sudden light and with a breath of courage forced his eyes up. They moved across the floor till they landed on the boys fine black shoes, traveled up the sleek charcoal gray trousers, his stomach knotting further as he took in the belt and fly that were hanging open.

What the hell had he been thinking? He cursed himself as he made his eyes continue the journey, up they went, over pale, pale skin with the gray button up clinging for dear life around his biceps, long bright red scratches standing stark and vivid on his chest. He gulped and noticed the purple bloom forming on his neck that Harry could vaguely remember making. He swallowed and felt his heart stop dead in his chest as his eyes landed on the pale, pointed face, his white blond hair a mused mess that was sticking everywhere.

Draco Malfoy was glaring at Pansy, his expression one of pure violence, his unnaturally red lips moving in a near silent threat that Harry couldn't make out. Then he huffed, dragged his hand through his hair to shift it out of his eyes and finally looked over, his gaze falling on Harry.

He felt his stomach plummet as Malfoy cocked an eyebrow and smirked, an expression that seemed at odds with his mangled, debauched appearance. Harry snapped his mouth shut and blinked his wide eyes, his mind skipping and refusing to settle onto what his eyes were telling him.

That he had just...with Draco Malfoy.

The touch of cool metal and the softest of clicks had him tearing his eyes away, his mouth falling back open and his mind finally catching up as he stared down at the pair of handcuffs looped around his wrist, the short chain tethering him to the smirking Slytherin who didn't look like he was fazed in the slightest.

Dear god, not only had he snogged Malfoy but now he was bound to him for some reason he couldn't fathom. He really should have listened to the rules.

But one thing was for certain.

He was doomed.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Silk Scarves and Enchanted Handcuffs